The hospital room wasn't made of iron bars, but Maya still felt caged.
Sterile white walls pressed in on all sides, suffocating her with a silence that screamed. The acrid scent of antiseptic stung her nose, mingling with the quiet hum of machinery and the distant murmur of nurses in the hallway. Even the blanket wrapped around her—thin, pale, and clinical—offered no warmth, only the illusion of comfort.
Outside the rain poured like an endless elegy. Drops streaked across the fogged glass, distorting the glow of city lights into a trembling blur. The world beyond moved on—horns blaring, sirens howling, lives being lived. But inside this fragile bubble, time had frozen.
Maya sat curled on the narrow hospital bed, eyes fixed on a small calendar pinned beside her. It was just paper and ink—but one number burned into her like a brand:
100 days.
One hundred days left to breathe. To feel. To exist.
Her fingers brushed the calendar, trembling as if touching it might make the truth less real. But the red scrawl stood firm. Unforgiving. Final.
Her heart clenched. Time was no longer just a measure—it was her executioner.
Then the door creaked open.
The sound was soft, but it cut through the silence like a blade. Maya flinched, lifting her gaze—and there he stood.
Liam.
Soaked from the rain, his dark hair clung to his forehead. His tall figure was outlined in the harsh fluorescent light, casting elongated shadows against the floor. But it was his eyes—stormy, piercing, aching—that froze her in place.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Time held its breath.
"Maya," he said finally, voice rough and raw.
She blinked back the sting in her eyes. "Why now?" she whispered, the question sharper than she intended. "After everything… why now?"
Liam stepped inside, his soaked boots silent against the tile. "Because I heard. And because... I couldn't stay away."
Maya turned her face to the window, hiding the war of emotions breaking inside her. "You shouldn't be here."
"But I am," he said gently. "And I'm not leaving."
She laughed bitterly. "You left once."
He didn't deny it.
"I can't lose you like this," he said. "Not without trying."
She eyed the envelope in his hand. Thick. Official. A strange chill crawled down her spine. "What is that?"
Liam placed it on the side table. "A contract. One hundred days. We pretend to be married—for the doctors, for your treatment. It gives us leverage. It gives us time."
Maya stared at it. At him.
"A marriage contract?" Her voice cracked. "You want to fake a life with me, Liam? After breaking everything we had?"
His jaw tightened. "Because I'd rather pretend with you than live reality without you."
She blinked, stunned. The rain outside roared louder, matching the storm in her chest.
"And if I say no?"
He stepped closer, slowly, as if afraid she might vanish. His fingers brushed a damp strand of hair from her cheek.
"Then I'll stay anyway," he murmured. "But this—this gives you a reason to fight. A reason to live. Even if it's borrowed time."
The words landed like fragile glass between them.
Maya looked away, blinking fast. The countdown on the calendar pulsed in her peripheral vision like a ticking bomb.
"One hundred days," she whispered.
"One hundred chances," he corrected softly. "To live like we mean it."
She finally met his gaze. And in his eyes—eyes that once knew her heart like no one else—she saw it.
Not just regret. Not just guilt.
But love.
Old. Shattered. And still burning.
The storm outside cracked open the sky, lightning slicing through the night.
Could love survive an expiration date?
Could two broken souls find healing before time ran out?
The calendar waited.
The clock ticked.
And so began the countdown.